Sweet Honesty
by Kiara7
Summary: Second part to HarryxRon trilogy. Pre-slash. Harry's watching Ron sleep and needs to get away. Going to the Astronomy Tower, Draco Malfoy sets him straight. NOT Harry/Draco, but is Draco-friendly.


**Disclaimer:  I am not JK Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter in any way.**

**Email:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com**

**SWEET HONESTY**

_Kiara_

From the slivers of moonlight shining in through the windows of Gryffindor tower, Harry could tell it was just before midnight.  Some large part of Harry found it rather pathetic that he could tell the time from the shadows filtering into the seventh year boys' dormitory and falling across one perfect face, so pale and innocent in the soft glow of night.  Ron's usually fiery red hair was now dark as if fell in messy pieces across his forehead, his bright blue eyes were hidden beneath his eyelids to see the things he only saw in dreams, and the freckles that splashed across his cheeks were almost indistinguishable.  This kind of perfection could keep Harry entertained for hours.

It seemed like hours that Harry had been sitting on the edge of his bed, watching Ron sleep through the partition in his curtains that Ron hadn't bothered to close.  He rarely did so anymore as the was with Voldemort was starting to pick up and both he and Harry were having frequent nightmares that ended with them sleeping in the same bed only to never speak of the incident the next morning.  On nights like these, when Harry was battling insomnia and mesmerized by Ron's beauty, he had to resist to urge to crawl into Ron's bed and make up some elaborate nightmare.  The only thing keeping Harry from doing just this was that nagging voice in the back of him mind that kept telling him it would be wrong to deceive Ron like that.  Besides, Harry didn't want Ron out of pity, anyway.

Through the low light, Harry could see the rise and fall of Ron's chest, his breathing steady as he dreamed.  Probably about Hermione, he thought, bitterly, before turning away from his best friend and allowing his eyes to fall on the window.  It had begun to snow and even the flakes falling from the sky reminded Harry of Ron.  He needed to get away.  If he sat here the whole night, he was bound to get little to no sleep.  Ron would be holding captive all of Harry's attention.  Urges were stronger and more frequent lately to reach out and touch him, even if it was something as chaste as stroking his cheek with his thumb or kissing his forehead.

Climbing out of bed, Harry crawled over to his trunk at the foot of his bed, threw open the lid, and tried to rummage through it as quietly as possible.  Neville and Seamus were deep sleepers as was Ron, who took the end of the world to wake once he fell asleep in the first place, but Dean had a tendency to wake up if you breathed too loud and so Harry tried to shift things without making too much noise.  Finding his invisibility cloak, Harry closed his trunk and threw the cloak over his head, making his way out of the dormitory and down to the common room.

As he descended the winding stairs, voices could be heard echoing off the walls.  With every step Harry took in the direction of the common room, the voices became more clear and distinct.  It was two girls from the sound of it, both eerily familiar, and Harry started to make out their words as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you sure?" said the first voice.

"I'm positive," said the second.  "Harry's been acting strange ever since September.  It's impossible not to notice.  I just don't know what to do.  Should I talk to him about it?"

"Gods, no, Mione," said the first, which Harry now recognized as Ginny.  "You've given him plenty of opportunities to talk about it.  You don't want to bring something like that up."

Harry could see Hermione nod as he walked into the common room, still well-hidden beneath the invisibility cloak.

"I just don't know what to do."

"Neither do I," said Ginny.  "We aren't the only ones, you know.  Ron's been a mess ever since the term started again.  He thinks he's done something to upset Harry and even though we all know it isn't true, it doesn't change how he reacts.  He's worried and I'm worried about him."

"So am I," said Hermione.  "I've noticed it, too.  We've talked about it some but he's been distant.  I don't think he's sleeping properly, either."

"Harry or Ron?" said Ginny with a sort of sardonic laugh that made Harry's insides shiver.  Ginny shouldn't have to sound like that on his account.

"Both, now that you mention it."

"Ron's been suffering from insomnia all summer.  Mum kept giving him sleeping potions and sitting with him until he fell asleep during the holiday.  We think it's all this business with You-Know-Who.  Honestly, we're all worried about Harry but Ron takes it to an extreme."

Harry, feeling far too guilty, didn't hang back to hear anymore.  The girls, so involved in their conversation, didn't notice when he slipped through the portrait hole and, thankfully, the fat lady said nothing when he left.  Wandering down the hall, Harry unsuccessfully tried to force the conversation between Ginny and Hermione to the very back of his mind.  Failing, however, he began to ponder their words, attempting to figure them out becoming something of an obsession.

It was no secret among the seventh year Gryffindor boys that Ron had bad sleeping habits.  Ever since last year when Harry had nearly died saving Ron from Voldemort, they had both developed nasty cases of insomnia.  Days would go by where Ron hadn't slept at all.  Harry knew better than anyone else, except Ron himself, because he was always watching Ron from the corner of his eyes, waiting for the body shudder and light breathing that signaled Ron was asleep.  A few times this year he had fallen asleep in classes because of his sleeping schedule and Madam Pomfrey was constantly on Ron, telling him he needed more sleep.

This was why he had to die when the final showdown, as it was bound to happen, would occur this year.  Harry was the source of so much misery that staying alive would only induce more of it, sending pain to those who didn't deserve it.  The Diggorys were in pain because Harry failed to save Cedric.  Sirius blamed himself for his parents' death, but Harry knew Voldemort would have never been after them if it weren't for Harry, himself, in the first place.  Now Ron was suffering because of Harry and it was a crime for someone as angelic as Ron to be suffering because of him.

Finding his way to the Astronomy Tower, Harry pushed back the door and stepped in, surprised to see a figure already sitting in the middle of the room.  The posture was unfamiliar, the back hunched over and the surprised spin when Harry entered and took off his invisibility cloak.  There was no mistaking the pale, pointed face in the low light or the bright platinum hair that looked more disheveled that Harry had ever thought it would be.  Draco Malfoy rarely went out looking less than perfect.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" sneered Malfoy, his pale face twisting.  Harry should have known it would be Malfoy that would speak first.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing, Malfoy."

"I needed somewhere to think.  Alone," said Malfoy, pointedly.

"You actually do that?" said Harry, offhand.

"Fancy cloak you've got there, Potter," continued Malfoy.  "I suppose it's your most prized possession seeing as how precious Potter gets to whatever he desires.  Do you think that involves being out after curfew?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the wicked glare that had come into Malfoy's glassy eyes.  Glassy?  A second glance toward Malfoy, Harry trying not to look like he was staring, proved a sheen layer of something that looked like tears had been coating Malfoy's eyes.  They were red, as if he had been trying not to cry, but that couldn't be right.  This was Malfoy, after all.

"Potter?" drawled Malfoy.  "You have no reason to be out of your dormitory, Potter."

"If you snitched on me, which would be a pathetic, Slytherin thing to do, you'd be in for it, too, Malfoy."

"I'm Head Boy."

"Exactly.  What do you think Dumbledore would say about his Head Boy wandering out of bed after curfew for no good reason?"

"I have a good reason."

"Which is?"

"I told you.  I needed to think."

"Well, I need to think, too, but as neither of us are doing much thinking, that isn't going to look like a good excuse."

"Neither of us is thinking because you keep running your mouth."

"Me?" said Harry, snorting a laugh.  "Right, Malfoy.  Keep telling yourself that.  Perhaps one day you'll actually believe it."

Ignoring him, Malfoy walked back to where he had been seated and resumed his former position with the exception of the slumped posture.  His back was straight, now, his shoulders squared and his chin parallel to the ground.  Sighing, Harry's Gryffindor instincts kicked in and he walked over next to Malfoy to sit down.

"Merlin, Potter, what do you think you're doing?" sneered Malfoy.

"Sitting, Malfoy.  What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're invading my personal space."

"There's the door, Malfoy.  If you don't want me sitting next to you, feel free to leave."

"I was here first."

"Well, I'm not leaving, and if you're not leaving, you're going to have to deal with it."  Malfoy made a heavy, exasperated sigh but remained where he was seated.  Harry pretended not to notice the other boy's theatrics.

Studying him, Harry noticed that Malfoy was looking paler than usual.  Harry would have never noticed had he not been sitting so close and in addition to the red, teary eyes, the slumped posture, and Malfoy's mess of hair, Harry didn't know what to make of him.  He had been unnaturally subdued lately, now that Harry came to think of it.  He hadn't noticed this before due to the Ron dilemma that encompassed most of his thought and his teetering feelings on the war with Voldemort.

"You don't look so good," said Harry, finally.  Draco snorted.

"Forever the flatterer, Potter," he said, rolling his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Like you really care."

Harry was silent, trying to think of an appropriate answer.  It wasn't that he didn't care, but he couldn't really say he did care, either.  Taking his silence as an answer, Draco gave a brief nod and turned to his head, watching the snow sprinkle outside the window.

"Why are you here, Potter?" said Draco, finally.

"I needed to think."

"We've established that.  What about?"

"I asked you first and you didn't tell me."

"What is this?  An 'I'll tell you if you tell me' sort of deal?"

Harry shrugged.  "Sure."

"You're Harry Potter."

"You're very observant."

"Cute, Potter.  My point is, you're Harry Potter.  I'm Draco Malfoy.  People like us don't spill our secrets to each other.  It just isn't done."

"Because it must be wonderful having Crabbe and Goyle for conversation," said Harry, snickering.  Draco's face turned very serious as he tilted it to the ground.  Feeling very much as if he should say something, Harry got the distinct impression he had just said something very wrong.  The awkward silence was starting to swallow him whole.  "Sorry.  Really, Malfoy.  Why are you here?"

"They betrayed me," he said, evenly.  "Can we not talk about this?  You and I are not friends nor can I see it ever happening."

"How did they betray you?"

"You just don't give up, do you, Potter?"

Shaking his head, Harry smirked.  "Nope."

"Where are Weasel and Granger?"

"What?" said Harry, frowning.

"Weasel and Granger.  Why are you on this little outing on your own?  They're usually glued to your sides at all times."

"The same thing could be said about Crabbe and Goyle."

"I told you.  They betrayed me."

"Why are you avoiding this?"

"Because I want to, Potter."

"Why would you want to?  You're Draco Malfoy.  Your life is perfect with your bodyguards, your pureblood girlfriend, and your care packages Mummy dearest sends you every so often."

"Don't presume you know anything about my life, Potter," snapped Malfoy.

"Why not?  You presume you know everything about my life."

Malfoy went to speak, his mouth opening in reply, but his jaw locked, his words freezing in his throat, and then he closed his mouth again.  Nodding, he said, "You're right."

"So . . . why are you here?"

"I used to be afraid Crabbe and Goyle would figure out they didn't need me -"

"Malfoy -"

"I'm getting to the point, Potter, don't interrupt me."

"Sorry."

"You should be," said Malfoy, a hint of a grin on his face.  It was the closest to a smile Harry had probably ever seen on the blond and the thought suddenly filled him with profound sadness.  Harry had problems but his still smiled; he still had friends.  "I used to be afraid Crabbe and Goyle would figure out they didn't nee me around.  They're so much larger than me and I was ordering them around since we were children.  They were the only people I had around besides the house elves.  I was afraid of what would happen when they realized they could single-handedly kill me.  Unfortunately, someone clued them in, promised them more power than they could ever have as a friend to me, and they betrayed me."

"What did they do?" asked Harry.

"We made a pact and they broke it."  Harry stared at Malfoy, waiting for him to elaborate.  Catching Harry's eye, Malfoy sighed and rolled up his sleeves, presenting his bare forearms to Harry.

"So?" said Harry.

"We promised our arms would stay like this," he said, plainly.  "Unmarked."

It was something that had always been in the back of Harry's mind.  One day, Draco Malfoy was going to be a Death Eater.  It seemed so obvious, and now, staring at Malfoy's bare arms free of the Dark Mark, Harry didn't know how he could have ever thought such a thing.  It was too simple and no person is that undeveloped.  He should have known.

"Sadly," continued Malfoy, "Crabbe and Goyle no longer share this trait.  You should see the lovely branding they both have.  It's quite nice.  I'm thinking of redecorating my room at the manor in it.  Merlin knows it isn't in my home enough, already.  At least Father doesn't seem to think so."

"I'm . . . sorry," said Harry, at a loss for words.

"What are you sorry for, Potter?"

"I - don't know."

"Big surprise," said Malfoy, laughing.  "Look, Potter, I know you don't like me and I'm a moody person -"

"I think the word you should have used was nasty."

"Thank you, Potter," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes.  "You don't like me but you can trust me.  That's all I was getting at." 

"I know," said Harry, and he did.  Having just seen Malfoy's arms and the steely resilience in his eyes when mentioning the Dark Mark, Harry understood just how much he could trust Malfoy.  The realization was so strong that Harry didn't think he'd ever understand it that clearly ever again.

"I was supposed to turn you over to my father," Malfoy continued.  "Make friends with you, earn your trust, and turn you over.  Lately - I don't understand him.  He's been - er - rough with me."

"Do you mean abusive when you say rough?" said Harry, interrupting.  Malfoy remained quiet.  "Right, then."

"At times I felt brainwashed.  Like I had been under the Imperius Curse.  Sometimes I think that I was.  All I know is that right now, I can't sleep in the Head Boy room.  I'm not safe there."  Not knowing what to say, Harry remained silent.  Then, after some time, Malfoy said, "You, Potter?"

"What?"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Harry remained quiet, thinking of Ron.

"Can't think up a good enough lie fast enough?" said Malfoy.

"No," said Harry, forcing a grin.  "I didn't think you'd actually tell me."

"I did, though.  That makes it your turn."

"Damn you, Malfoy."  Malfoy snickered.  "I don't think you want to hear why I came up here tonight."

"Of course I do," said Malfoy, grinning.  "It isn't like you wanted to hear about Crabbe and Goyle becoming Death Eaters, now did you?  Of course not.  What are you doing here?"

"I really don't think we should discuss this, Malfoy."

"I'll guess if I have to.  Come on, Potter.  Don't be such a sissy.  I told you and now you have to tell me.  It's only fair."

"You're a Slytherin.  Since when do you care about things being fair?"

"Typically, I don't, but you are a Gryffindor and they always have to be fair.  It's sickening.  I already held up my part of the bargain and now it's your turn."

"The Sorting Hat almost made me a Slytherin."

"Excuse me?"

"The Sorting Hat almost made me a Slytherin.  It said I would do well in Slytherin and wanted to put me there but I begged to go anywhere but Slytherin."

"Why?" said Malfoy, unable to comprehend how anyone would not want to be in his house.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes.  Ron told me all about your family -"

Draco snorted.

"Right.  And you were already a Slytherin and I had heard about the Slytherin house already.  That and you reminded me of my cousin, Dudley."

"A muggle?" said Draco, sounding disgusted.

"Not just any muggle, at that," said Harry, grinning.  "He's one of the most awful muggles I've ever met.  Looks like a pig in a wig, though now that I think about it, he's gotten so fat it's more like a cow in a wig."

"I remind you of someone like that?"

"Sorry, Malfoy, but yes.  At least you did."

"So why are you here?" said Malfoy, trying to get back on topic.  Harry groaned.  "I told you, Potter.  I'd guess.  Does it have to do with Voldemort?"

"No," said Harry, sighing.

"Does it have to do with. . ." Malfoy's voice trailed off as he seemed to be in thought.  "I know!  It's a girl, isn't it?  You're up here because you want some girl and she doesn't want you."

Harry hesitated, Draco taking this brief pause as a confirmed answer.

"Who is it, Potter?  Who's the lucky girl you want to make Mrs. Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," said Harry.

"Looks like I struck a nerve with you, Potter."

"It isn't a girl, Malfoy."  And it really wasn't unless you were counting that problem with Hermione.

"That's really very cute.  Harry Potter, Hogwarts golden boy, in love."

"I'm not in love."

"I think you're lying," said Malfoy, grinning.  Harry took one look at him and shuddered.

"I don't think you were meant to look like that, Malfoy.  You creep me out when you tease."

"My house elves tell me the same thing."

"Your house elves," said Harry, thinking of Dobby and Winky, only one of whom was a Malfoy house elf.

"Yes.  My house elves.  You do know what a house elf is, don't you, Potter?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I used to have this house elf that did my laundry named Dobby.  He was my best fr - er - house elf.  Right."

"You had a house elf for a best friend?"

"No."

"I think you're lying," said Harry, taunting in the same tone Malfoy had been using.

"It isn't funny, Potter.  Someone killed Dobby."

"What?" said Harry, who knew Dobby was still very much alive.

"My father took him with him one day on errands and someone killed him."

"No one killed your house elf, Malfoy."

"If no one killed Dobby, then where is he?"

"In the Hogwarts kitchens!"

"He could only be there if he were free.  My father would never free a house elf."

"He didn't.  I did."

"What?  Okay, Potter, I know you don't want me to know who is it that you lust after, but you don't have to go making up stories about my old house elf to make me back off.  That's sick and low.  Someone killed Dobby.  My father told me so."

"Your father was tricked into freeing Dobby in an act that involved and old sock and Tom Riddle's diary," said Harry, before going into a brief account of the ordeal.

"Dobby is really in the Hogwarts kitchens now?"

"Yes!  He knits me socks for Christmas every year!"

"Dobby is a traitor," mumbled Malfoy, looking sour that his house elf practically worshiped Harry.

"You could go visit him," suggested Harry.

"You could tell me who it is that you're in love with."

"I'm not -"

"Save your breath, Potter.  Let's see . . . it isn't a Slytherin."

"What makes you say that?"

"Is the person in our year?"

"Yes," said Harry, exasperated.

"So there is a person."

"Bugger."

"Right, then.  So if she was in our year, who would you want?  Millicent Bulstrode or Pansy Parkinson?"  Malfoy made a gagging sound.

"Aren't you _dating_ Pansy Parkinson?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging.  "We're betrothed.  It comes with the territory."

"Betrothed?"

"My father still believes in arranged marriages.  I believe I need to get out of it.  If she calls me 'Drakie-Poo' one more time, I'm going to kill her."

"Sorry.  I'm sure we can find you someone.  You're attractive enough."

"Of course I am.  It isn't me you want, is it?"

"Er - no," said Harry, hoping Malfoy was kidding and hadn't picked up that it was a guy Harry wanted.

"I just thought - you know - if it was, then I wouldn't have to be with Pansy."  Malfoy sighed.  "I can't see you interested in any of the Ravenclaws . . . except Padma.  You know, she has a twin and you wonder what it would be like to have them in bed at one time -"  Harry cocked and eyebrow.  "Er - perhaps that's just me."

"Perhaps," agreed Harry.

"What about Hannah Abbott?"

"The Hufflepuff?" asked Harry.

"Yeah.  She's got those pigtails and you just want to grab them."  Malfoy made this sound in his throat that sounded like a low growl.  Harry backed away from him.  "Perhaps that's just me again."

"Perhaps."

"Granger!" said Malfoy, jumping.  "How did I not go right to Granger?  It makes so much sense.  You're here brooding because Granger is with Weasel and she should be kissing you instead.  You _are_ Harry Potter, after all."

"Er -" said Harry, looking away from Draco.  "Something like that."

"Something like that or is it that?"

"Something like that."

"Well I can't think of anything else like that unless it was Weasel . . ."

Harry couldn't help but flinch with Malfoy being so close to it that it was painful.  Malfoy noticed, too, and his jaw dropped, gaping at Harry.

'Harry Potter's gay?" he finally breathed.

"I'm not gay," said Harry, firmly.

"Harry Potter's bisexual?"

"Stop saying my name like that," said Harry.

"What?"

"Like it's one word.  Call me Harry or call me Potter but stop saying my full name like I'm a thing."

"Fine.  You're bisexual.  You covet men."

"I don't covet men."

"Are you bisexual?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Then you covet men," affirmed Malfoy.  "Are you sure you don't want me?"

"What?"

"Are you sure you don't want me?  Because, if you did, I wouldn't have to be with Pansy.  Perhaps I should become bisexual.  That doubles my chances of getting out of this arranged marriage.  What's it like sucking a cock?"

"I wouldn't know," muttered Harry, wishing Malfoy would just shut up.

"You covet men and you've never sucked a cock," said Malfoy, like he didn't believe him.  "You want Weasley.  You love Weasley."

"You don't think it's disgusting?"

"Of course I think it's disgusting!  It's Weasley!" said Malfoy.  "Is it the red hair?  Yeah.  I can see it.  I bet he's an animal in bed, the way he gets all riled up."

"You're really weird, Malfoy," said Harry.

Malfoy shrugged.  "If you want to know if I'm disgusted by the bisexual thing, the answer is no.  My father is bisexual.  I've had just as many young, pretty boys sent to my room as I have had girls.  The Death Eater initiation ceremony involves homosexual sex.  It's something I've been exposed to since a fairly young age."

"How did this happen, Draco?"

"You called me Draco."

"Slip of tongue."

"How did what happen?"

"This," said Harry, motioning between them.  "It's getting light outside and we've been up here all night talking like we're old friends when we've never had a decent conversation before in our lives."

"I suppose you just caught me when my defenses were down," said Draco, sighing.

"Where does this leave us?"

"Well, I'm certainly going to look at the way you hug Weasley differently."

"Draco."

"I say we play it by ear.  Right now . . . I don't have anyone else."

"What about Hannah and her pigtails?" said Harry, smirking.  Draco scowled at him.  "Honestly, Draco, I know the feeling."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I know the feeling.  Of not having anyone else."

"You have Granger!  You have Weasley!  Don't tell me you don't have anyone else."

"They have each other.  I hate watching them together.  I keep thinking of what there could be between Ron and me but I'll never have it.  He's not like that, anyway.  Not to mention he's in love with her."  Harry's face turned solemn, sad, and Draco narrowed his eyebrows.

"What?  There's something else.  What is it?"

"I'm going to die, anyway," said Harry, softly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Voldemort."

"Harry, you're the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.  Don't talk like a moron.  If you lose, if you die, there isn't any hope for the rest of us."

"Right," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious."

"No one would miss me, anyway."

"That's just you feeling sorry for yourself, which I will have none of.  You have friends who would miss you.  Weasley would miss you."

"He has Hermione.  They're together.  He's hers now."

"Then, bloody hell, take him back."

"What?  Back?  When was he mine in the first place?"

"He's always been yours.  Who was friends with him first?  You or Granger?"

"Me, but. . ."

"And who loved him first?  You or Granger?"

"I don't think Hermione loves him, yet."

"You do, though.  He's yours, Harry.  Take him back and stop feeling bad for yourself."

"There's nothing worth fighting for."

"That's just foul, Harry.  There's always something worth fighting for.  Do you realize how different things would be if you just gave up?  Everyone is looking to you, Harry.  You know it.  And you're going to let them all down because you don't want to watch Weasley with Granger?  That's awful selfish of you.  I say take him back and kick Voldemort's arse, because if you give up, we're all done for."

"Why me, Draco?  It isn't fair?"

"No, but that's the way it is.  If you give up, Weasley's gone, too.  Remember that."

"Sun's coming up," said Harry.  The snow had stopped falling, light was spreading out over Hogwarts grounds, and Harry released a long yawn, glad it was Saturday.  Quidditch practice was going to have to be postponed.  "I need sleep."

"Think on it, Harry," said Draco.  "If you give up on yourself, you're giving up on Weasley, too."

**This is the second part in my RonxHarry trilogy.  The first part is Hey Jealousy and the third part is Now and Forever.  You can access them on my author page by clicking on my pen name at the top.**


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